


An Aside To High

by lookupkate



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Incest, M/M, Phone Sex, holmescest
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-27
Updated: 2014-01-27
Packaged: 2018-01-10 07:05:49
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,068
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1156588
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lookupkate/pseuds/lookupkate
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The first time Sherlock calls Mycroft while he's high goes differently than Mycroft had hoped.</p>
            </blockquote>





	An Aside To High

**Author's Note:**

  * For [taylorpotato](https://archiveofourown.org/users/taylorpotato/gifts).
  * Inspired by [When You're High](https://archiveofourown.org/works/1152627) by [taylorpotato](https://archiveofourown.org/users/taylorpotato/pseuds/taylorpotato). 



The breath on the other end of the line is ragged. It's three in the morning and he's still up writing a review for work. It's his first real presentation and the pressure had been weighing on him. He's the youngest to ever hold the position, but that's always been the case. As Mycroft is about to ring off there's a whisper. 

"Mike?" Sherlock asks weakly. 

"Sherlock? Are you alright? What's going on?" He asks, more than a little frightened. 

The laugh he receives is enough for him to throw his pen and paper across the room. 

"Mike. Miiike. Have you ever triedheroinnnn? Really is quite..." Sherlock's voice catches and he moans. 

That sound, that very sound, is what changes everything. There is no going back from a sound like that. No reasoning with it. He can feel his cock twitching in his slacks as his hand begins to shake. 

"Sherlock, dear, what are you playing at?" Mycroft asks, keeping his voice completely still as his mind starts to fragment. 

"Are you as hard as I am?" Sherlock asks giggling. 

Jesus. What to do? What to do? Hang up. That's the answer, just hang up and drag him out of bed in the morning to go to rehab. Find a place with security and stop this...this...nonsense. It isn't a matter of whether this is right or wrong, it's a matter of Sherlock's safety. Yes, just think of Sherlock's safety and all will be fine. Be strong, be assertive, be... 

"I'm leaking just thinking about you. I've been naughty. Would you like to punish me Mikey?" Sherlock asks, voice shaking. 

Oh bollocks. 

"I think you deserve it." He replies, trying to convince himself that this response is strong, is assertive. 

"That wasn't my question." Sherlock retorts. 

"I don't think I like playing this game, Sherlock. It's not funny." Mycroft says, trying to hold his ground. 

"Then maybe I should go find someone else to play with, there are a few clubs down the way that don't card for a hot little-"

"Yes. Yes I want to punish you. Stay where you are and I'll tell you how." Mycroft says. 

It's times like this where the truth of their power dynamic comes crashing into view. A lot of people see Mycroft as the overbearing, controlling older brother. They think he can orchestrate Sherlock's life. That's how Sherlock likes it to look. In actuality it's the other way around. Sherlock only has to whisper to make Mycroft jump. He knows every button to push and exactly how hard to push it. He'd been doing it since he could walk. Bending his actions this way and that to watch Mycroft squirm. The invisible strings that the boy could pull, even from across the country, were beginning to draw blood. Maybe if he gave him his way, just this once. 

"God, yes." Sherlock moaned. "Tell me." 

"First of all, get your filthy paws off your cock. I know you're playing with yourself, like the insolent child you've always been. What you really need is a good spanking." Mycroft pulled himself back together enough to sound commanding, even as his fingers slipped down beneath the elastic of his pants to run through his auburn pubic hair. 

"Yes, I am filthy. I need a good spanking. I'll be good." The bed on the other side of the line creaks and then goes silent. 

"You say you want it but I know you, blud. You'd struggle. I might just have to take off my belt to tie your hands up. I'd make you count off, twenty if you go still and take it well. You won't, of course. So let's say thirty, shall we?" Mycroft is stroking his cock now, which should feel wrong but happens at that exact moment to feel fantastic. 

"And then?" Sherlock asked breathily. 

"And then? And then you would get another five for gracing us with such a pitiful question." Mycroft has started to sweat and can taste the salt on his upper lip. 

Sherlock whines. 

"I think I'd like to fuck you next. Turn you over and grip those rosy cheeks, throbing with blood. Sink into you to the hilt. You'd better get ready. Wouldn't want to hurt you. Do you have lube?" He can hear scrambling over the phone as it's dropped and then picked up again. 

"I've got it." Sherlock sounds so proud of himself that Mycroft wonders if he is a bad man. This is of course ridiculous, as the only thing that really matters is that the world needs bad men. 

"Have you done this before?" Bad, not wicked. "You'd better go slow, or I won't be rewarding you." 

Sherlock snorts, insolent as ever, and the gasps. "Oh. That's. That's tight." 

"I'm sure it is, brother dear. Oh, to be the first to breach you. To take that virgin arse and split it open. Would you like my tongue. That's one thing you can't manage on your own, isn't it. No one's that flexible."

Sherlock's breath stutters on the line. Suddenly he's breathing harder, almost hyperventilating. "Yes, My. I want you to lick me open." 

"Fine, should have expected as much out of a filthy little slut like you." Mycroft has to hold tightly to the base of his cock to keep from coming. It doesn't feel good, but it's necessary. "You can feel my hot breath now. You can tell how close I am before I even touch you. I know you, Sherlock. I know your body. I lick down your cleft and flatten my tongue over your hole. Such hot skin right there. You're burning for it." 

"Yes! I'd squirm and press myself back onto your face. 'please Mike. Please fuck me with your tongue!" Sherlock's voice has reached such a low frequency that Mycroft can feel it in the speaker of the phone. Or maybe, just maybe, he's going a bit mad. 

"How many fingers, Sherlock?" Mycroft begins stroking himself again. 

"Three." Short answer. Breath heavy. Bed creaking. About to come. 

"I'd push my tongue in and you'd scream out for more." Picking up speed, doubling pressure. So close. "Touch yourself." 

Sherlock drops the phone and Mycroft hears him moaning. He bucks into his fist and comes so hard it hurts. 

He hears Sherlock breathing on the other side of the line. Heavy, harsh breathing, and then the phone clicks off.


End file.
